


Underwater Therapy

by vivianne_leigh



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Found Family (Implied), Gen, Gun Violence, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Nonverbal Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianne_leigh/pseuds/vivianne_leigh
Summary: Grace Holloway has never been content to sit in silence, and Subject Delta has never been one to give up at the first change of plans.(They might have more in common then they think.)





	Underwater Therapy

Delta didn’t know Grace had a limp.

She’d seemed so steady over the radio, so unshakable her barricaded fortress above the other apartments that he was almost confused by the way she rolled her weight on one foot, often enough that the sole of her shoe was worn thin in places. Trying to be considerate, he slowed down his pace enough for her to catch up, deliberately not noticing the way her breathing seemed harsh as she hurried to match his stride.

“ _Well_?”  

She sounded confused, borderline indignant, even, at not being dead; she had expected Delta to not only take the key, but her life; perhaps even both with the same heavy hand. Unable to reply, (as she very well knew) he raised one should and lowered it, moving in a pantomime of a shrug. She trailed him out of her apartment, past the stripped mattress and the impaled doll, past the green light splashing on the wall from the security camera, and down the slippery slope of the partially-collapsed ceiling. Sensing his dismissal of the question, she sucked her teeth and sighed, still hobbling behind him across the threadbare carpet. “To hell with _me_ , then.”

They were almost back to the hive of destroyed apartments when Grace stopped him, swinging out her cane to crack his ankle with a little more force then necessary. “I know that Doctor Lamb is no liar, but she's got to be wrong about you. It doesn't seem right now, letting you walk into that bushwhack waiting outside. This way.” She grabbed his elbow for a split second and yanked him to the right before quickly pulling her hand away with a thinly-veiled shudder of disgust. Ignoring the reaction, Delta followed in her footsteps, watching as she took a sharp right and pressed a button almost invisibly tucked away between the crevice of two intersecting walls. With a tired groan, the floor before them opened outward on hinges, close enough that the steel-capped tips of Delta’s boots jutted into the darkness below. Not waiting for his reaction, Grace lowered herself over the hole and swung her legs in, sinking into the dimness before being swallowed like a pebble in water. Her voice echoed up from the dark, a ghostly echo.

“What are you waiting for? Get a move on.”

He jumped through the trap door with a rattling thump and tried to orient himself; they were still at the end of a hallway, but in one built directly below the first. Overhead, the trap door slid back into position, rusted hinges creaking mournfully as gravity pulled them back down. This new hall stretched out parallel to the corridor above, a tube of total darkness broken only by the flickering whiteness of a few industrial lights. Sensing his confusion, Grace brushed past him and started walking, the distinct dragging rasp of her steps filling the quiet between them. Instinctively working to preserve the quiet, he twisted the dial on his radio to mute any incoming transmission- he could fix it later, when its sound didn’t threaten his progress.

“It’s an emergency tunnel. Probably the only safety precaution The Drop _ever_ had. It’ll take us to the train station.”

_Us?_

Delta shouldn’t have been surprised at her announcement- no one he’d seen here wanted to stay, really- but he’d honestly expected her to die like the others, happy to die for the good of the Rapture Family or even at the hand of an enemy. (That is, if the ocean didn’t get to her first.)

Without proper lighting, the tunnel seemed to dip into forever, stretching in to what felt like an eternity that was punctuated only by the faint screams of splicers and the sudden popping of random gunfire. Grace tilted her head at the sounds and grimaced but pushed on.

“There’s nothing to do for them, now.” Her words, while spoken, felt private; Delta had the distinct feeling she wasn’t addressing anyone, merely speaking to her own guilt. “Lord knows what’s left of them, least inside; they hardly even recognize me anymore.” She sounded exhausted at this, even as she continued to make her way down the tunnel at a fast clip. “I’ve gone about this all wrong, haven’t I? Got so caught up in the Family I couldn’t see all the bad I’ve done.” She stopped suddenly, so unexpectedly Delta had to dig his heels in and stop short to stop from knocking her over with his weight. Through the grime of his helmet he could see her shoulders trembling with restraint, see her dark hands balling into tight fists. He stood behind her silently, watching as the tension drained from her shoulders in stops and starts, until at last her fingers unclenched and dangled her sides. When she spoke again her voice was thick with emotion and almost unconsciously her hands slowly opened and closed, as if testing a newfound strength.

“Well, sir... I don't know what to do now. I guess you’re stuck with me until we can work out this mess.”

The silence afterwards felt expectant, pregnant; before the thought had fully formed in his head he had tapped her on the shoulder before reaching into one pocket and pushing the key at her, its golden surface glinting the low light. At this distance he could clearly see she’d been crying- her eyes were shiny with unshod tears and her expression was that of near-hostility. She squinted at the key in the dark, starting to reach for it before speaking.

“Before today I would have stolen that key from you in a breath and left you swingin’ by a _rope_.”

Pausing, she moved closer, crossing her arms as she closed the distance between herself and his outstretched hand. “...But now? I owe you my life, if it sits right with me or not. Hold on to it.” Abruptly,  she turned away and cleared her throat loudly, taking advantage of the weak light to hide her expression. “Let’s keep moving, now. There’s more to be done.” with that, she started down the corridor again.

Even as they moved down the hall together, neither looking at the other, Delta was aware of the turmoil of Grace’s emotions. Her breathing sounded choppy, even as their pace slowed to a suitable speed, and she gave a few muffed sniffles as the glow from the bulbs washed over her in periodic waves. The light was nowhere near strong enough to show the end of the tunnel, so the walk seemed endless, as if they were walking through a starless sky.

Overhead, a woman’s raspy voice pierced the silence between them, just ahead. “Where’s Mrs. Holloway!? He’ll _kill_ her!”

“Shut the hell up, Barbara!” This came from a new voice, undoubtedly male, and from the hoarse growl alone Delta recognized this second speaker as one of the hulking brutes he had seen earlier. Grace stopped suddenly at the conversation, head snapping up, as if on a string,  to stare at the weathered wood above her. “Barb and Ronald,” she muttered, and clucked her tongue in bitter astonishment. “They’re _still_ together.” Delta stopped beside her, not wanting to leave her behind again, and she glanced at him quickly before turning back to the couple overhead. “They were just the sweetest couple, before. Made a point of inviting me over for drinks, after... well. She always had sherry after dinner and he- well, the man sure _loved_ his brandy.”  She chuckled quietly at the memory, still unmoving. Overhead, the hallway fell silent, punctuated by the far-off rumble of activity and the low groan of waterlogged floorboards.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the silence was shattered as an bone-jarring _BOOM_ exploded overhead, rattling the the walls of the corridor so badly that one of the bulbs flickered out before falling to the ground with a grim crunch. The sound was followed immediately by pained screams, which ominously fell into silence as the pair listened.

“Oh, hell.” Shaking her head as if to unstick her thoughts, Grace set off again, catching Delta by the elbow with the hook of her cane to spur him along. “They set up the rocket turret, now. Come on.”

As they moved through the tunnel, carefully making their way down the first of the staircases guided only by his weak headlamp, Delta mentally reviewed the next step in his plan: now that he had the key, he could break the lockdown and push on, even as the rising fatigue in his bones cried at the thought. The exhaustion had been weighing heavy on him since he had first staggered out of the vita-chamber hours ago, and as he had progressed he could feel other pains joining in: his pulse felt irregular, even when resting, and a throbbing web of pain had draped itself across his shoulders, pulsing sharply whenever he pushed himself too far.

He knew what was coming.

Death had seemed an impossibility hours ago, a far-off and vague threat thrown out purely to scare. But now, he could feel his own mortality looming over him, its breath filling his helmet with the cloying scent of graveyard dirt. Against his will, he could feel the animalistic fear of dying threaten to rise to the surface, overwhelming him: a rush of adrenaline squeezing his heart so suddenly, with such a sudden rush of viciousness, that the very colors seem to swirl around him. The corridor seemed to ripple around him, wriggling out of his comprehension, but he forced himself to _think,_ to focus on something outside of the wild hysteria crushing his chest. His footsteps lagged, and an unsteady hand reached out to grab blindly at the wall for support. Vaguely, he felt himself stagger, sink to one knee.  

 _Eleanor_.

The stiff whiteness of her pinafore, the bounce of her braids, the heat of her hand as she had happily squeezed his fingers through the rough canvas of his gloves.

 **Eleanor**.

He let her name wash over her, a balm for the fear, and quietly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He had a daughter waiting for him, and as long as he could move he would do so towards her.

“...Sir?”

The quiet voice startled him; when he looked up Grace hovered just out reach, her expression twisted with worry. It took a minute for him to connect the formality to himself; his brain resisted accepting that her concern was really directed at him, a lumbering big daddy. He let out of a bark of laughter at the situation (hadn’t she been trying to kill him less then an hour ago?) as he stood upright, shaking his head to clear the lingering vertigo as best he could. The sound caught Grace off-guard and she pulled back faster then he expected, already gripping her cane like a bat and tensing for a swing. After a moment, his laughter registered and she lowered the cane to support her weight once more, rolling her eyes in resignation. “Laugh if you’d like, but we’ve got a long way to go before either one of us can take our final rest. Hurry up, now.”

There wasn’t much to be said by either, now; instead they finished the turns in silence, making their way to the station with hardly a word between them. After nothing but footsteps and the background noise of battle for several minutes, they both heard something, faint but real: the sound of a child, sobbing softly.

They looked at each other, each gauging the reaction of the other: after a moment they shared a nod and split up, drifting to separate sides of the hallway in an attempt to pinpoint the sound. As they slowly pushed forward, focused on the cries, the sound became louder, until it seemed to fill the hallway like smoke. Grace stopped, her worn heels clicking mutedly against the wood, and grabbed Delta’s shoulder, pointing up when he turned to look at her.

“ _There_ ,” she mouthed, looking frantic. In the darkness, the loose hair in her bun reflected the low light around them, framing her face in a soft halo. “Good lord, what is a child doing out there?”

As if to answer, the child’s voice pitched up pathetically, echoing in the narrow space.

 _“_ What's _wrong_ with you, Mr. B?"

“ **No**.”

The word was so hard and flat Delta almost failed to connect it to the elderly woman beside him, even as she coolly pulled off her fascinator and tossed it at him, failing to notice when he fumbled at the gesture and nearly dropped the cap. Once done, she turned her attention to the cane in her other hand, staring blankly as if it had been placed there by a stranger. Wordlessly, she threw it to the side and took a few steps further down the hall. Still holding her hat, Delta watched dumbly as she reached up, fingers tapping the wall in the dark, and uncoiled a rope ladder from the wall. Almost robotically, she put her foot on the first rung, then the second, completely ignoring Delta as he crossed the narrow hallway and grabbed her wrist. She snapped to face him with a flinty expression, knuckles bloodless over the handles in the ladder.

“Let me _go_ , goddamn it!”

As best he could manage, Delta shook his head at her, unrelenting in his grip. Has she gone insane? Between the impatient hordes of cultists above them, aimless and bloodthirsty, and the vulnerable position of being in a literal hole in the ground, it was a much bigger risk to send Grace out alone then himself. Grace, however, was having none of it and bristled at the restraint, attempting to pry his hand free of her own. “What are you doing, you bastard?! Damn you...” Still wrestling with his hand, she pulled one foot free of the ladder and started kicking at him wildly, aiming for the chest in an attempt to throw him off balance. “I’m _not_ doing this again!” She spit, trembling with rage. She gave one last violent pull before sagging forward suddenly, the fire gone. “I can’t lose another one,” she whispered, putting her foot down and resting her head on the gritty rung. “Please don’t make me.” A tear caught the light as it fell, silently soaking into her shawl as he watched, speechless. As delicately as he could in iron-capped gloves, Delta patted her on the back, before pointing to himself, then to the ladder and hatch it led to.

Already regaining her composure, Grace sniffled quietly and used her shawl to dab at her eyes. “You’d like to play the hero one more time, huh? Well, be my guest, Mister Tin Daddy.” With that, she stepped aside lightly and gestured towards the ladder, hiding the half-smile playing along her lips. If Delta had seen her expression, almost smug in the low light, he might have been concerned, but Grace hid her mouth behind a thin hand and simply watched as he slowly approached the exit. Cautiously Delta put one heavy hand on the stiff rope, and pulled experimentally.

With a groan and whisper of tired threads, the ladder snapped, leaving behind a cloud of rope fibers and plaster dust in its passing. Almost comically, Delta looked down at the sad pile at his feet, then back to the lone surviving rung that swung sadly overhead. As if in sympathy, the Little Sister sobbed overhead, a single loud hiccup before falling into quiet tears once more.

A quiet laugh came from behind him and Grace pushed her way past, kicking at the rope ladder with something like bitter satisfaction, her hands on her hips. “Well, you can’t stay I didn’t try to stop you. Help me up.”  When he hesitated, she huffed impatiently and laced her fingers together, pantomiming the motion of supporting someone’s weight. The suggestion was less then appealing, but he had no alternatives- the sides of the trapdoor were too high up for him to reliably jump, and to ask Grace to support all of his 300-plus pounds of bulk seemed like a cruel joke. Biting back a resigned sigh, he knelt and offered her his cupped hands, but before she could make use of the foothold he stood up again. Before she could react, he raised both hands, palms out, imploring her to wait. Already impatient as the miserable weeping continued, she frowned at him and his intrusion.

“Yes?”   

In reply, Delta ducked his head down and began fiddling with one of the many straps crossing his armor. Ignoring his searching, Grace twisted around, trying to better pinpoint the cries. As she struggled to get a handle on the sounds, something heavy was pushed in her arms. Disbelievingly, she blinked at him, thin arms struggling to hold the gun to her chest. After a beat she smiled at him, flashing him a smile full of perfect white teeth that gave Delta a look at a much younger Grace, still in her prime.

“How about _that_.” Still smiling, she experimentally raised the shotgun to shoulder height, testing the weight of it in her arms before lowering the gun to her hip and wielding it low, posing like a mobster with a machine gun. “My father taught me to shoot as a girl, using his old Colt from the war. I can still handle myself.” She let the weapon drop and looked at him, an unreadable expression flickering across her face. Looking down, she nervously traced the side of the weapon, clearing her throat once before speaking. “I almost don’t understand why you’re doing this, stranger. I treated you _beastly._ I was so sure that you were a creature, snatching children from their beds. But now? I don’t know anything about _anyone_. I guess... I’m aiming to apologize, is all.” Finished, she glanced sideways at him, awaiting his reaction.

There was a long pause.

Without warning, Delta caught Grace’s hand, his hand easily dwarfing her own. He held her hand for a moment, both breathing softly in the silence, before maneuvering their fingers into a handshake and pumping up and down. Satisfied, he let go and stepped back, nodding slowly. Grace looked at him and chuckled quietly, sucking her teeth as she regarded her hand. “Well, I’ll be. I appreciate your understanding, friend. Now, let’s see this through.” When he kneeled and laced his hands together, she stepped into them with no hesitation and pulled herself up onto the floor above, taking care to keep the shotgun muzzle away from them both. The last thing Delta saw before the trapdoor closed shut was her face over the edge, framed by the bluish light from the windows. “I’ll be back soon, and hopefully with company.”

With that, the hatch slid shut and darkness filled the hallway, leaving him alone with nothing but his own heartbeat for company.

* * *

How long he stood there, enveloped in the dark, he didn’t know. Eventually, however, the crying stopped, and Delta could only faintly hear Grace speaking. The crying paused, then faded, and both voices faded into a conspiratorial whisper.

First, there was silence then a scream, followed by a flurry of footsteps and a rapid pop of gunfire. He tensed, muscles flooded with aimless adrenaline, as the voices grew louder. Another scream rang out, louder this time, and the footfalls grew louder until they were directly overhead. The trapdoor swung open recklessly, hinges screeching in protest at the movement, and a before Delta could react a _very_ disheveled Grace plunged through the hole, one arm awkwardly wielding the shotgun and the other clamped tight around a petrified Little sister. Too slow for his comfort, the trapdoor continued inching its way shut, still a full foot away from closing, the rust-coated hinges creaking miserably. “Here!” She pushed the child at him, trying to free her arm, but the girl shrieked and held on tighter, eyes darting towards the rapidly approaching shadows outside the hatch.

“No, no, no! You’re hurting her!” A long three-fingered hand burst through the gap, followed by another, scrabbling at the hatch desperately. Another pair pushed in too, similarly misshapen, and the two splicers began yanking at the wooden hatch. The force was so powerful that instead of pulling the door up as expected, the hinges locked up and the water-damaged wood began to crumble, disintegrating in a fine powder.

“Oh _hell_ ,” Grace whispered, watching the wood above get ripped to pieces. As the group froze, watching the grimy hands shred their last protection, a large chunk of wood fell free and a yellowed eye pushed up against the hole, frantic and rolling.

“I- I see you! Get _away_ from her!”

Before the crawler could pull away Grace swung the shotgun up and fired, her entire body jumping with the kickback. The hole exploded in a shower of red and a howl came from the other side, sending the shadows dancing as the splicer flailed. The scratching paused, then picked up again- with this time, Delta noticed, one of the splicers sporting a blood-smeared hand. Before Grace could open fire again, Delta grabbed her shoulder and pointed down the hall, giving her a push in the direction before turning back toward the collapsing trap door and squaring his shoulders.

“No dice, sir. I owe you my life, and I’m not about to turn my back on you because of a bad turn.”

As smoothly as Grace could, she lowered the Little Sister to the floor and pushed her behind her, using her body to shield the girl from the splicers above them. The child squeaked in fear and grabbed Grace’s leg with both hands, locking both skinny arms around her like a vice. Overhead, the splicers were still scratching, hoarse voices screaming nonsense as more and more of the shoddy wood fell to pieces under their hands. Grace looked at Delta and nodded, grim determination in her eyes as she steadily aimed the shotgun at the splicers. As best he could, Delta nodded back, and the two waited for the right moment.

With a final shudder of crushed wood, the remains of the trapdoor were ripped free of their tethers. Distorted silhouettes made dark holes in the light streaming into the escape tunnel, and a blood-smeared face popped into view.  

“Where do you think you’re going, you-” 

 **_BAM_**.

The splicer slowly slid to the side, slouching over lifelessly. No sooner had the first figure fallen away then another appeared, even more horrendous: this one half blind, wearing ratty pants and tattered suspenders. Unnaturally fast, a long arm shot out and grabbed Grace by the arm, shaking her hard enough to drop the shells she was using to reload. The other hand grabbed her neck and started _squeezing_ , hard enough she could only gasp.

“You bitch! You... you killed Henry! _I trusted you_!”

With both hands firmly on her, the crawler started pulling her out of the tunnel; The angle was all wrong, however, and in his struggle to drag her out Delta saw his chance- he grabbed the rocket launcher and chambered his last heat-seeking missile. The distance between them all was less then ideal, and he knew the chance for splashback was high, but this was the only weapon and ammunition that would finish the splicer the quickest. As evenly as possible, he raised the launcher over his shoulder and aimed, taking a slow breath before squeezing the trigger.

_Sorry, Grace._

* * *

The explosion was deafening- the entire tunnel lit up with light in a dazzling display of sparks, and the stink of burning hair and flesh filled the air alongside the smoke. Delta stumbled, temporarily blind, and sunk to one knee, trying to stabilize himself: the splicer had gone quiet, replaced by the crackling of flames.

He reached out, feeling around for something familiar- and was met with a warm softness. Confused, he pulled it closer, as it was drawn nearer his vision cleared.

It was Grace.

Her face was coated with ash, and blood streamed from both nostrils. Something silver glittered against her grimy skin and when he leaned closer to inspect it, he saw that it was the fin of the missile he had fired, embedded deep in the flesh of her lip. As calmly as he could, he leaned over her and checked her pulse (still strong) before reaching into one pocket and pulling out a syringe of medical ADAM. Expertly gripping the tube, he braced his thumb against the plunger and gave an experimental nudge, watching with satisfaction as a bit of ADAM oozed out of the needle. Before she could react, he pinched the scrap metal still in her skin between forefinger and thumb, a task made all the more difficult by the clunky, steel-tipped gloves he wore. With his other hand he rested the tip of the needle against Grace’s thigh, counting backwards in his head as he braced himself.

In one fluid motion he ripped the shrapnel free of her flesh, cringing inwardly at the burst of blood that spurted from the movement. At the same moment he jammed the needle in her leg and pressed the plunger, cupping her chin to keep the staunch the last streams of blood. When he pulled his hand away, he could see the faintest line of scar tissue where just seconds before had been torn skin.

As if on cue, Grace grunted and pushed away, turning her face from him to swat groggily at his hands. Delta stepped back, not wanting to startle her awake and turned his attention to the small figure huddled against the wall. The Little Sister blinked owlishly at him, her hair lightly singed in places, before shifting her gaze to Grace. Almost shyly she crawled over to her and peered at the woman, before licking her thumb and attempting to scrub the worst of the soot off her slack face. It was ridiculous, but Grace seemed to have handled the medicine well enough and the girl was genuine, so he let her spit-shine away to her heart’s content.

Having demolished particularly dark smear of soot, the Little Sister sat up and smiled at Delta, flashing him a grin one front tooth short. “All better!”

At the child’s voice, Grace made another noise and flung an arm over her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Delta didn’t bother interfering; he knew how draining and disorienting it was take wake up after a dose of medical ADAM. The mixture was a cocktail of drugs designed to heal physical wounds as fast as possible, and as such could easily overwork the system of the recipient: Grace probably felt like she’d been sleeping off a flu.

“Not now, Eleanor.” Her voice was slow, like someone in a dream, but after a moment she sat up stiffly, bewilderment clear in her expression.  Seeing her awake, the Little Sister shuffled closer, waving slowly. Still processing, Grace squinted at the child before rising to her feet, groping at the wall for balance and turning to Delta. While her movements were still shaky, her voice was steady and rapidly gaining in venom.

“What were you _thinking,_ you crazy bastard?” Apparently not expecting an answer, she pulled herself upright before pressing on, hand automatically closing gently around the tiny fingers the Sister pushed into her grasp. “Not all of us are wrapped head to toe in coverings, looking like a goddamned Michelin Man! What possessed you to- to-” she paused for a moment and stared at her hands, the anger giving way to confusion. “What?” She turned to the Little Sister, who shrugged in response before pointing towards Delta. “You did this?”

In explanation, he pulled a medical kit from his pocket and tapped a finger on the surface, placing it in her outstretched hand. “Well, I... huh.” She blinked at the container before tucking it under an arm and looking up at Delta. “How many times can I owe you my life, friend?”

Silently, Delta made a show of counting his fingers before showing her all ten. She laughed and that and picked up her cane, before turning back to him, still smiling. “My hat?”

There was a beat. Delta looked at her, confused, and in response she tapped her head where the fascinator had sat no more then 20 minutes ago. He jumped guiltily and patted his pockets, scanning the floor when it wasn’t there, only to find it on the ground behind him, slightly squished from where he had accidentally stepped on it in the commotion. As carefully as he could, he brushed the worst of the dust from the fabric and popped the hat into its old shape. Then he handed it to Grace, and she nearly found herself laughing again- she never thought a man twice her size and almost seven feet tall could look bashful. Putting the ruined cap back on, she chuckled at how ridiculous she must look before remembering their newest visitor. “How are you feeling, baby?”

Suddenly shy at the attention, the Little Sister shrugged, lanky hair swinging loosely with the motion. “I’m okay.” she said, bare feet kicking up dust. “Are we going home?”

A leaden silence followed.

With a sigh, Grace kneeled in front of the child and took both her hands in her own, making sure to catch the girl’s gaze. “We all are, honey. Me and my friend here are trying to get to a special train, to get outta this crazy place. Would you like to come?” The girl nodded, wide eyes never leaving Grace’s face. “Alright, then. Can I hold your hand? It is _awfully_ dark in here.”

Watching her, Delta could see the way Grace had treated Eleanor all those years ago, and a twinge of guilt made him sigh.

Nodding to him Grace stood back up and the trio started moving again in relative quiet save for the occasional burst of activity from above.

They made it to the train faster then either had thought, the tunnel ending in a short flight of stairs that terminated in yet another trapdoor. This one left them in front of the abandoned ticket booths, close enough to hear the chatter of the splicers fortifying the Fishbowl Diner, lying in wait for Delta.

As silently as possible the group crawled out of the floor and once out of sight of the cultists and their weapons, collectively burst into a dead run to the train. It wasn’t the most prudent method, Delta knew, but he was so eager to get _out,_  be free of this half-drowned slum, that he didn’t have it in him to make everyone slow down. Instead, they made record time down the last hallway towards the train station, going so quickly Delta found himself ducking to get through the automatic doors faster. Ahead of him, Grace darted to the booth and crammed the key in the slot, watching raptly as the tunnel doors slid open. His silenced radio slapped against his thigh as he crouched, and he remembered he’d never restored its sound, fumbling with the volume as he gestured for Grace and the girl to stop moving.

“...chief, this radio silence isn’t doing either of us _any_ favors. I know you’re not the most conversational fella, but I’m gonna need some kind o’ feedback, here.”

At the sound of Sinclair’s voice, Grace stiffened, turning around to stare at the handheld as if it grabbed her. Completely unaware, he prattled on. “Now I know I’m not exactly Willie Pep...” the door to the train car rattled, and Delta could hear the click of the locks being undone, and the slow grind of a handle being turned. “But I have half a mind to come outta here and-”

The door popped open.

* * *

Delta could only imagine what Augustus saw- him, still holding his radio, a Little Sister with burnt hair, and a furious Grace, splattered with blood.

Both parties were silent. Sinclair swallowed nervously, tapping the toe of his scuffed dress shoe.

“Huh.” Still staring, he rearranged his grasp on the transistor. Disbelief radiated from him; a thinly veiled cringe disguised as an awkward smile crossed his face as he faced the group. “Well hello, Gracie. I didn’t expect to... see you here. How are you- ugh!”

Faster then anyone could’ve predicted, Grace closed the distance between them and struck Sinclair across the face, backhanding him so hard he staggered and nearly lost his balance against the car seating. Delta moved forward to stop her, but she shrugged him off and turned back to Sinclair.

“Don’t ‘How are you’ me, you _stingy_ sonofabitch. You’re lucky I’m letting you walk after everything you’ve done.” With that, she pushed passed him and marched deeper into the train, taking care to elbow him in the kidneys as she made her way inside, the Little Sister at her heels.

Approaching Sinclair, Delta offered him a hand and helped him to his feet, taking care to assess the damage from Grace’s swing. Already broken blood vessels were rising to the surface, reddening the surface of the skin with inflamed patches.

“Don’t... don’t worry about it, kid- She’s right... mostly. I’m lucky she didn’t give me a new hole in my head, instead.” With that, he picked up his dropped radio and sat down in a nearby booth, resting his head atop crossed arms.

Patting his shoulder in consolidation, Delta pulled away and went to look for Grace and the girl. He found them in the second to last booth in the back, the Little Sister curled sleepily in Grace’s lap while the woman stared intensely out the grimy window. She didn’t turn to face him, but still spoke, one hand rubbing slow circles on the child’s back. “I wasn’t planning to say anything to him.” Letting out a slow exhale, she rubbed her free hand against her cheek, trying to collect herself. “I just... saw his _face..._ And I remembered. All that hell he raised in The Drop, just to make a dime.” With that, she turned to him, smiling bleakly. “It was mighty satisfying, though. And it sounds like the man is accepting his penance, so I’ll have to let it lie.” Once Grace had finished speaking, the Little Sister squirmed impatiently, trying to get her to rub her back once more. Grace laughed and patted the girl’s head fondly, resuming her motion while offering Delta a conspiratorial whisper.

“If you’d been wondering, I barely had enough ADAM in me to pull it off.” When Delta tilted his head in confusion, she continued, something like pride in her eyes. “That Brigid woman left me some kind of plasmid, said it could “fix” the girl’s Doctor Lamb had... changed. I didn’t believe her at the time, didn’t wanna think the girls needed saving from The Family, but I held on to it, just in case. Looks like it came in use, didn’t it? I sure owe that queer kraut gal an apology.”

She gave him one last smile before leaning back, looking all of her years in the heavy quiet of the train car. Easing into the seat, she gave one last comment to Delta before settling into a well-deserved rest and closing her eyes. “I appreciate you listening to an old woman ramble, friend. But... don’t you have a train to be driving?” She cracked open one eye and smiled teasingly at him, before settling back down with a sigh.

Moving back out  of the train car, Delta passed Sinclair again. He thumbed through a tattered paperback, appearing at ease even as the handprint on his face bloomed into a mottled purple. Noticing Delta’s approach, he waved the book at him before turning back to his page. “The Maltese Falcon, chief. An all-American classic. I’ve read it about 10 times, but it holds up. Are we set to depart?” Before Delta could move, however, he pushed on, looking slightly nervous.

“Now just a second. You had words with Grace?” When Delta nodded, he set the book down and stood up, look like a first-time father pacing in the waiting room. “What’s she up to? Not rallying the troops, I hope.” As best he could, Delta put his hands together and pressed them to one side of his head, pantomiming sleep. Still looking nervous, Sinclair nodded, glancing at Grace’s seated figure before pushing on. “I built up quite a bit of bedding in my lil private suite in Ryan Amusements. She’s welcome to some, if the need strikes her.” Almost shyly, he reached into an overhead compartment and pulled out a tattered wool blanket. Stepping around him to stand in the doorway, Delta looked at the shorter man and then jerked his thumb over to the two resting figures at the end of the car, his intent clear. Sinclair followed the gesture expectantly, before turning back to him with an expression of strained disbelief.

“Grace’d be tickled pink to see me again so soon, I’m sure.”

Silent as ever, Delta pointed again.

“Well... all right, sport. Just intervene if you hear any bullets flying.”

With that, he headed down the corridor, the blanket slung over one shoulder.

As quietly as possible, Sinclair approached the two, taking pains to keep his footsteps light. Unfurling the blanket, he draped it over a softly snoring Grace, carefully pulling it under the Little Sister’s chin to uncover her face. Satisfied with his handiwork, he pulled back and looked at the sleeping pair, something like emotion making his stomach twist. Turning back down the aisle, he was barely a few feet away when a low voice startled him, his shoulders going stiff with tension. Like a deer in headlights, he froze, looking over his shoulder to see a now-awake Grace.  
  
“I appreciate the gesture, Mister Augustus. We might make a new man a’ you yet.” Sensing his shock, she opened her eyes and regarded him coolly, tucking the blanket tighter around herself and the sleeping child. “I might be beat, but I’m not _dead._ Heard you thunderin’ your way down the corridor. Still... thank you.”

“Just the least a fella could do,” Sinclair muttered, breaking eye contact to stare back down the aisle.

“Hmph. If _that’s_ what you wanna call it.” With that, her breathing lulled into a slower speed, and she once again began to snore lightly. Alone with his thoughts, Sinclair quietly made his way back to the front of the car and sat in his old seat, taking pleasure in the way the worn dime novel fit his grasp. Seeing his return, Delta nodded at him, slipping through the car door and heading to the controls to start their journey.

Paying that small kindness to Grace had had a strange effect on Sinclair: normally he would be dismissive of free goodwill like that, but something in him felt... good at the action. Flipping absently to the last page he remembered, he clicked his tongue and smiled to himself. Helping Tenenbaum, now looking after Grace... he hoped he wasn’t going _too_ soft.

* * *

 In the control room, Delta slowly curled his fingers around the engine’s lever, reflecting on the way the situation had changed in the span of only a few hours. There was a lot to consider, but one thing was clear: they all needed to leave this place, this stockpile of human misery. Using that motivation to drive his movements, Delta pulled hard on the lever, letting the rumble of the engine force him to focus. As the train started its slow departure from the station, he squared his shoulders and let out a deep breath, acutely aware of how many more lives were now counting on him to get them out. There was only one more person missing, and not for long if he had his say.

_We’re coming, Eleanor._

 


End file.
